


We’re Not Friends

by Jack Ironsides (JackIronsides)



Series: Pictures at a (Friendship) Exhibition [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Brief suicidal thoughts, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Pre-Slash, extremely platonic face touching, if Netflix won't show them being friends then by gum i'll do it myself, mostly fluffy but it caught Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackIronsides/pseuds/Jack%20Ironsides
Summary: Geralt made a face, but stood up and headed to the bar anyway. ‘We are not friends,’ he called over his shoulder.‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jaskier returned, flapping a hand dismissively. ‘Just keep telling yourself that.’Jaskier would take Geralt’s declarations that they weren’t friends a lot more seriously if it wasn’t for the fact that every time they both got drunk he wound up with a lap of giggling witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pictures at a (Friendship) Exhibition [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051538
Comments: 100
Kudos: 638





	We’re Not Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I was going to write a tumblr post about this that goes as follows:
> 
> I know what we have in Netflix canon is Geralt going ‘we’re not friends’ at Jaskier several times
> 
> But since we see like 0.1% of their friendship, and we only seem to drop in on their relationship in the midst of Geralt having a succession of Terrible Days, it’s _INFINITELY FUNNIER_ to me if Geralt, in fact, tells Jaskier they’re friends just. Like. Just constantly. Except for when he’s in a bad mood. So it’s pretty hard for Jaskier to take it to heart when Geralt’s like ‘We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. I don’t even know why you’re here, or wearing a pendant that’s shaped like half of a heart and which reads “BE FRI” that I definitely didn’t give you. >:(’
> 
> And then I wanted to write a fic about it.
> 
> (And then the fic caught Feelings.)

Jaskier expected to get chased off by a grumpy witcher the first night they shared a camp. He certainly had seemed like he was about to after the whole business with Filavandrel. But instead, Geralt disappeared into the nearby wood while Jaskier was attempting to get a fire lit. His horse and pack were still here, so it was likely that he wasn’t disappearing for good, but, well. It wasn’t as though Jaskier hadn’t spend most of his young life being told he was ‘a lot’ and that he ‘sometimes needed to let other people talk’ and that ‘maybe I just need to go be somewhere you _aren’t_ for awhile, Jaskier’. So. He understood the impulse.

But no; it turned out that Geralt was going hunting, and he brought back several unfortunate squirrels and a rabbit and skinned them (something that was going to haunt Jaskier’s dreams for months, honestly; he’d been perfectly happy not thinking about the process that turned animals into ... well, food), and cooked them over the fire that Jaskier had started. Well. After improving Jaskier’s terrible pile of smouldering twigs by forming a new twig structure over the top, and explaining why it worked better that way. And _then_ cooking the meat over the now merrily crackling flames.

Jaskier had looked jealously at the meat, then dug in his own pack and pulled out one of the bread rolls he’d scavenged from the floor of the pub. They weren’t too bad now, but he knew from experience that they weren’t going to improve in edibility after today. At least he had a few bits of dried meat and fruit in his pack for once the bread rolls had all been eaten up. That ought to see him through until ...

... midmorning tomorrow. Fuck. If he’d known he was going to wander off into the wilderness after a witcher on a whim, he would’ve packed his bag more thoughtfully. And possibly bought some kind of herbcraft manual.

‘Here.’

He looked up to see Geralt offering him a stick with bits of meat skewered on. He blinked.

‘Take it,’ said Geralt.

‘I—Thank you,’ said Jaskier. ‘Oh! Here.’

He fetched out a couple of the bread rolls and offered them in return. They might as well be eaten while they were still fairly fresh, after all. And it seemed like he wasn’t going hungry tonight himself. Geralt took them graciously, and the two of them sat chewing in silence for awhile.

‘So why are you here,’ said Geralt.

‘Like, in Dol Blathanna, or ...?’ said Jaskier.

‘No, I mean. Following me.’

‘Like I said before. You seem like muse material. I could write endless songs about you. The heroic witcher.’

‘I’m not a hero.’

‘Really?’ said Jaskier. He split a second roll open with his hands and put the last of the meat inside it. Much easier than trying to eat them separately. ‘I mean, I don’t want to tell you your business, but offering to be murdered by the elves instead of me seems pretty heroic to me.’

‘Hmm,’ said Geralt, which didn’t sound like agreement.

‘I mean. You’d only known me for about five minutes, and most of my actual _friends_ wouldn’t offer themselves up like that. I’m just saying.’

‘Hmm,’ said Geralt again, although with a very different tone of voice. It sounded thoughtful.

Oh god, this was going to be like how in second year his entire class could tell by the end of term one whether or not they’d done well in the test by how the lecturer put his lecture notes down on the podium at the beginning of class, wasn’t it. By the time he and Geralt reached the next town he’d be answering ‘hmm’s with ‘I _beg_ your pardon, that’s not how you should speak about my mother’ and then he would be shunned as a madman.

Geralt tore the last piece of meat off its roasting twig and chewed it silently, throwing the twig into the fire.

This is it, Jaskier thought. This will be the point where he’s all, _lovely to have known you, kindly fuck off forever, or I’ll break both your legs_.

‘Never had a friend before,’ said Geralt, thoughtfully. ‘Not a proper one. Not one who wasn’t a witcher.’

It was a good thing that he wasn’t attending to Jaskier at all as he pulled his bedroll out and set it up on the other side of the fire. It meant he didn’t see Jaskier’s unattractively gaping mouth, large enough, as his mother had told him, to catch flies.

This wasn’t how he’d expected this evening to go _at all_. But on the whole, he was absolutely not complaining.

That was how it began.

*

Some months later, they were sitting around another fire, which Jaskier had been the sole composer of. He was quite good at getting a fire well underway by the time Geralt returned from his foraging expeditions by now.

Well. ‘Sitting around’ the fire was less accurate than ‘sitting in front of’, since Geralt had dragged a half-rotten log over, and they were sitting on that, side by side, watching the flames.

If they were any other people, they’d be sharing a flask, Jaskier knew. But he was a mere mortal, and Geralt had to drink virtual poison to get drunk. So they each had their own flasks.

But a shared log, haha.

Geralt was giggling. Jaskier kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of his eye, because he felt like he had been given a _gift_ , getting to see Geralt like this. He was pretty sure that Geralt only allowed himself to get drunk like this out in the woods, away from people. But not away from Jaskier, ha! Because they _trusted_ each other.

It was possible that Jaskier was a little bit drunk. Lil bit. Possibly a lot.

‘No, seriously! There was no way I could have known!’ said Jaskier. ‘She was _adopted_. They don’t even share a skin colour! How was I to look at this pale, fetching red-headed maiden, and think, _ooh, yes, this girl will definitely be the daughter of the handsome dark-skinned gentleman who took me home the night before and made me ascend to the stars and join their infinite number in a dance without end?_ I was perfectly innocent in this matter!’

‘So did Daddy come to the tavern and find you in bed with his daughter and give you a telling off?’ said Geralt, between snickers.

‘How did you know what I called him?’ said Jaskier. ‘Did you know him?’

This set Geralt off, and he laughed so hard that he wound up sprawled, half lying across the log, with his head in Jaskier’s lap.

‘And no, actually,’ Jaskier continued. ‘It was the daughter. She went home perfectly happily from our dalliance and then somehow found out over breakfast with Dear Papa. She came back like an avenging fury to rage at me for defiling her father. Who was an adventurous widower, I’ll point out, so no marriages were harmed on this occasion.’

Geralt giggled harder, until tears rolled out of the corners of his eyes.

‘So what did you say?’ Geralt said, when he managed to gather enough breath to speak.

‘I _maaaay_ have not been at my best when she arrived,’ Jaskier hedged.

Geralt hauled himself half out of Jaskier’s lap, propping himself up on one elbow.

‘Sweet Melitele, what did you _say_?’ he breathed.

Jaskier grimaced for effect. ‘I _might’ve_ said that it was more accurate to say that _he_ defiled _me_.’

Geralt snorted, then dissolved into helpless laughter again. He flopped back across Jaskier’s lap.

‘You big cat,’ Jaskier said affectionately, scritching at Geralt’s scalp.

‘Mmm,’ said Geralt drowsily.

His eyes blinked open and looked up into Jaskier’s. His pupils were enormous in the dim light, almost swallowing up his amber irises. He was beautiful.

‘Hi,’ said Jaskier.

‘Hi,’ said Geralt. ‘Jaskier?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m glad we’re friends.’

Geralt’s eyes drifted shut again.

Jaskier stroked his hair until Geralt was properly asleep.

‘Me too,’ he whispered.

*

‘Your round,’ said Geralt, waving his empty tankard.

‘Haha, nope,’ said Jaskier. ‘You’re not getting me like that. It’s yours. Just because it’s been a few days, it doesn’t mean I haven’t forgotten.’

Geralt’s eyes widened, as though he couldn’t _possibly_ know what Jaskier meant.

‘ _You_ were the one who made the bet,’ said Jaskier. ‘You brought this on yourself.’

‘It turned out to be a water hag, not a drowner, though.’

‘Well, _you_ should’ve been more specific in your terms, then. All _I_ remember is the part where you said “I’ll buy you an entire evening’s drinks if I’m wrong.” Which you were, twice over.’

Geralt made a face, but stood up and headed to the bar anyway. ‘We are not friends,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jaskier returned, flapping a hand dismissively. ‘Just keep telling yourself that.’

His grin fell away when a shadow fell across his table. The back of his neck started to prickle.

‘We don’t like your kind here,’ said a deep voice, slurring a little with drink. ‘Pretty boy. Pretty city boy.’

‘Not looking for any trouble,’ said Jaskier. He hunched over his tankard, as though he could make himself look smaller, like someone it wasn’t worth bothering.

‘Oh, but we are,’ said another voice, grabbing a fistful of his doublet and starting to haul him half out of his seat. ‘Pretty boy in your pretty clothes.’

‘You got a problem with me and my friend?’ came Geralt’s gravelly voice.

Jaskier had never heard that rasp sound so sweet.

‘ _Witcher_ ,’ spat one of the men.

The resulting fight was over almost embarrassingly quickly. It was clear that neither of the men had any skill at fighting to speak of; they’d probably just planned on one of them holding Jaskier down while the other stuck the boot in.

‘You all right?’ said Geralt, after it was all over. 

‘Yeah,’ Jaskier sighed. ‘Just. Let’s take the beer upstairs and go to bed. I find I’m not in the mood for company any more tonight.’

*

‘Thank you for your help, Witcher,’ said the mayor, handing over payment with a pleasing lack of hesitation. ‘The creature injured two wandering players who were meant to perform at the festival overmorrow.’ He sighed. ‘The whole town had been looking forward to it, but we might as well call the whole thing off.’

‘My friend is a famous bard,’ offered Geralt, gesturing to Jaskier. ‘We could stay a little longer, and he could play for your festival.’

The mayor looked at him, and Jaskier inclined his head in acknowledgement.

‘Not three weeks past I performed at the Ellander Festival. The earl himself praised my songs,’ he said. ‘If you have local musicians, perhaps we could arrange a dance in the evening, too.’

The mayor looked hopeful. ‘Could you? We could pay you what the troupe was meant to get. And I know the miller’s daughter plays krumhorn. We’ve had a difficult year,’ he said. ‘It would mean so much to us all.’

‘So long as we’ve somewhere to sleep,’ said Jaskier. ‘And somewhere to put my friend’s horse.’

‘Well, you _must_ stay with me, of course,’ said the mayor. ‘Come, my wife, Margrethe, would love to meet you both. The festival is _her_ baby, really, so she’ll want to talk your suggestions over with you ...’

*

Chireadan had been kind enough to take him into Rinde proper after the whole mess with the djinn. Which was very welcome. He’d never been filled with a greater need for a drink or seven in his _life_.

(And if he could somehow drown these very confusing feelings he was having about his best friend, that would be great. They weren’t welcome the first time they’d popped up, nor the sixtieth, and nothing about what he’d seen through the window of the mayor’s house had made him feel less conflicted about it.)

The two of them were fairly well wedged in at the tavern when Chireadan looked past Jaskier’s shoulder, then said, ‘I’ll just—go get another jug.’

He was gone before Jaskier could ask him what _for_ ; they’d both barely started the pints they had.

He had his answer a moment later when Geralt slipped into Chireadan’s vacated seat.

‘Jaskier,’ he said, sounding relieved.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Jaskier. He felt swaddled against the frankly pretty terrible day – couple of days, really – that he’d had by a comfy cushion of beer, and was even prepared not to hold the witch’s _everything_ against Geralt.

(Even though Geralt had clearly had no compunctions about holding the witch’s everything against himself.)

‘Chireadan’s just gone to get more beer,’ he confided in Geralt, leaning in to whisper. ‘He might give you some, if you’re nice.’

He leaned back and took a long draught of his own beer. His throat was still a little sore. Chireadan had said that powerful magic sometimes left something like a hangover behind, so it took your body a while to notice that it’s lifted. He said that sleep usually worked, but Jaskier was willing to attempt drinking until it went away. Especially after this day. The day he’d had.

He blinked.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he told Geralt. ‘Here, have the rest of this.’

He pushed the tankard across and Geralt drank the rest in a few swallows.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Don’t mention it,’ shrugged Jaskier. ‘Honestly, I didn’t expect to see you again for awhile. Perhaps a month or two. What with the sexy witch.’

Geralt looked guilty. 

‘I wasn’t going to leave you alone.’

Jaskier shrugged, and tried to imbue the shrug with nonchalance. _Who me?_ the shrug could say. _I’m perfectly fine with my best friend fucking a witch who threatened to castrate me. I’m definitely not jealous that she got to put her hands all over that, even though she’s clearly a terrible person, because you and I are such good friends! And I’d never begrudge you one of those rare moments of happiness that life allows you._

‘I wouldn’t blame you for leaving me,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t you have incredible life-affirming sex with the gorgeous – if crazy – witch after a fucking house fell down around you, touching each other tenderly with shaking hands. Perfectly understandable urge.’

Geralt looked away and cleared his throat. ‘It wasn’t planned.’

‘The best things never are,’ said Jaskier. He spun his tankard in his hands. ‘So. She kick you out? Decide she’d got what she wanted and now had the sample she needed of a witcher’s life force to raise some new and horribly powerful creature to wreak fresh havoc on the township?’

‘No,’ frowned Geralt. ‘What kind of ballads have you been listening to? No, I came to find you.’

‘Find _me_?’

‘Yes,’ Geralt said, frowning harder. ‘You’re my friend. And didn’t you say yesterday that the Countess de Stael left you? I’m not going to leave you alone after a heartbreak.’

‘I honestly didn’t think you were listening.’

‘Of course I was listening,’ said Geralt. He winced, and amended, ‘Mostly. I hadn’t really slept for days and I was—not quite taking everything in properly.’

Jaskier hummed. ‘Been there during university finals. It’s the worst. I’m sorry for being a bit of a shit yesterday. I was a _leetle_ drunk.’

‘Were you?’ said Geralt, mock surprise in his eyes. ‘I hadn’t noticed. You seemed to be your usual level of stubborn childishness.’

‘Rude!’ exclaimed Jaskier, clutching at his chest. ‘I was _trying_ to _apologise_ , you ass.’

They grinned at each other. Chireadan put down a jug of beer between them. 

‘Witcher,’ he said politely. ‘Jaskier. I should—take my leave. I am glad you are both well.’

He tilted his head politely and left.

‘He could’ve stayed,’ Geralt said.

Jaskier refilled his cup and pushed it across to Geralt, taking Chireadan’s abandoned tankard for himself.

‘He just watched you fuck the woman he’s in love with,’ he said. ‘He probably doesn’t want to be around you right now. I imagine. Even if he liked you. I mean, I could only imagine what he’s feeling.’

Geralt hunched in on himself.

‘Never mind,’ said Jaskier. ‘We’re both alive, and we have a jug of beer. There are people worse off than we are. Where shall we go next, my friend?’

*

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

_We’re not friends._

‘Right, yeah,’ said Jaskier, blinking back tears.

He realised that some tiny part of him had been waiting for this ever since Geralt had ever called him his friend. This _always_ happened. He’d get too clingy, or push too far, or was just a little _too_ annoying, was just, somehow, _too much_ , and then this would happen. His friend would lose his patience with him, and the fact that he forgot things, and was impulsive, and talked too much, and would decide he wasn’t worth the trouble.

 _I just—you’re far too much_ work _, Jaskier._

He told himself that he’d done well to have this friendship last for twenty years. Especially since Geralt was a little short-tempered. Most of his other friends had drifted away or outright stopped wanting to have anything to do with him under much shorter periods of time. Geralt’s patience with his whole, well, _Jaskierness_ , had been superhuman, really.

He shouldn’t have ever thought that maybe he’d found someone who thought his company was worth something. Gods. What a foolish fucking thought. He should’ve known _better_ than to get comfortable. He should’ve been more careful. Spent more time letting Geralt travel on his own. But he’d been greedy for his witcher’s company.

 _Melitele, could you stop following me_ around _, Julian? We’re not actually_ friends _, you know._

‘I’ll, uh, just get the story from the others,’ he said, trying to work out what to do next. 

Alone _again_ , but it wasn’t like he was still fifteen and rowing with a university classmate. He was a middle-aged man who should have made better plans. Who should’ve made a better life for himself, something solid and reliable, instead of finding himself on the top of a hostile mountain, with nothing to his name but a lute, a collection of songs he didn’t think he could bear to sing, and some boots whose soles needed replacing.

 _Go back to your witcher, Julian. At least_ he _can stand to have you around._

‘See you around, Geralt,’ he said to Geralt’s back, knowing that he wouldn’t.

If only he’d been the one to fall from that bridge. At least then he wouldn’t have had to worry about this.

Well. What the _fuck_ did he do now?

*

He didn’t even bother turning away from the fire when he heard hoofbeats a week later. If whoever it was wanted to rob him, the joke was on them; he hadn’t had enough coin to rub together for a month. All he had worth taking was his lute. Why shouldn’t destiny take that too? Just so long as they left him the scrawny rabbit he’d managed to snare. He was so _hungry_.

If he hadn’t fucked up, hoofbeats would have meant Geralt. Maybe he would’ve had to take a trophy in to town to get paid, and then he’d be returning with coin, and perhaps some loaves the baker was selling cheap at the end of the day.

Gods, but he missed Geralt. And he missed Roach.

Footsteps approached. Jaskier turned the rabbit, spitted on a stick, over in the fire. It was nearly done.

‘I don’t have anything worth stealing,’ he said conversationally. ‘You’re wasting your time. But you’re welcome to share the fire, if you’d like.’

‘ _Jaskier_.’

It sounded like Geralt, but there was no way it could be Geralt. Had he started hearing things now? Tears pricked at his eyes.

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

He pulled the rabbit from the fire and turned it over in his hands, checking to see it was cooked through.

The footsteps got closer, and then a man dropped to his knees beside him. Hands framed his face, turned his head.

It was Geralt. It _was_ Geralt. He was here, and resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, and if this was a hallucination, it was the _realest fucking thing_ Jaskier had ever experienced in his life, as juices from the spitted rabbit in his hand dripped onto his skin.

‘Geralt?’

He brought his free hand up to touch Geralt’s face. His eyes were _burning_ now, and he wasn’t going to cry. If he’d managed to make it through that day on the mountain without crying, he wasn’t going to cry now.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Geralt said, still so close that they were sharing breath. ‘I didn’t mean it, I was just—It _hurt_ so much, and then I thought you couldn’t possibly want to see me ever again, but I can’t, Jas, I missed you so much, I couldn’t bear never seeing you again. Please forgive me.’

‘No, it’s my fault,’ Jaskier said, smoothing his thumb along his friend’s cheekbone. ‘I knew you were hurting and I should’ve just. Left you alone. I just didn’t want to see you in pain. So I thought I could just—distract you.’

‘No, I shouldn’t—’ began Geralt.

Jaskier couldn’t bear to hear him apologise again. ‘Rabbit?’ he says, holding up the stick. ‘I only caught the one, I’m afraid, but we could still share.’

Geralt laughed brokenly. ‘Sounds good.’

‘I missed your facility with hunting,’ Jaskier said, tearing pieces of meat off and piling them in Geralt’s hands. ‘I clearly have to pick up some new skills if I want to spend more time travelling by myself.’

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ said Geralt. ‘Don’t go without me.’

‘We won’t always be travelling together, my friend,’ said Jaskier, gently. He couldn’t stop himself from touching Geralt’s cheek again, just to be sure he was really there.

Geralt caught his hand, leaving it pressed to his cheek. ‘Don’t call me that. We’re not friends.’

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Geralt,’ said Jaskier, carefully. ‘I’m feeling a bit fragile right now, and I’m getting some really mixed fucking messages.’

Geralt made a frustrated noise. He didn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand, but instead pressed his face into it.

‘It’s not a big enough word,’ he said.

Jaskier put the skewer aside and turned to properly face Geralt.

‘Sweetheart? What do you want?’

Geralt dropped his gaze. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he whispered.

‘I’m not going to leave you unless you want me to go,’ Jaskier said.

‘I didn’t mean it on the mountain.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Jaskier said, feeling tired. ‘But then you need to use your words to say what you mean, and not leave me guessing at what you might mean. We have, historically, not always been great at that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I know. Eat your rabbit.’

They were both quiet for a little while. Half a rabbit each didn’t actually take all that long until it was gone, but Jaskier welcomed the breathing space. He wondered when it was that he started feeling older than a century-old witcher.

‘I could go and find some more game,’ offered Geralt, as Jaskier was licking the last of their poor meal from his fingers.

‘Maybe in the morning,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t mind being hungry for one more night if I know you’re still here.’

Geralt set out his bed roll by the fire, and coaxed Jaskier to come lie down with him. Jaskier protested that he still had his own, but it was still tied up with his pack. It hadn’t felt worth the effort the last few nights to do anything other than lie down on the ground and pass out there. Think of all the time he’d saved in the morning, not having to strike much from camp.

Jaskier lay down in the lee of Geralt’s body and closed his eyes. Geralt lay next to him, stroking Jaskier’s hair. It felt nice. No wonder Geralt had always liked this when they got drunk. He could feel himself start to drift off.

‘Jaskier.’

‘Mm?’

‘Come to Kaer Morhen with me.’

He blinked himself awake the best he could. ‘Mm? What’s at Kaer Morhen?’

‘’s where I grew up. It’s where I spend the winter.’

He yawned. ‘Mm, ’kay. You bring all your friends there?’

‘No. It’s just for family.’

He looked up into Geralt’s eyes. They were nearly black in the dim light.

‘’Course I’ll come,’ Jaskier said, letting his eyes close. He curled into Geralt’s warmth and left himself drift. Just before he fell asleep, he felt Geralt press a kiss to his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be jossed the second season two drops and I don’t even caaaare.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr ([jackironsides](https://jackironsides.tumblr.com/), or [jackironsidesfic](https://jackironsidesfic.tumblr.com/)) where I’m trying to juggle approximately 47 Geraskier WIPs.


End file.
